


Nightmares End

by dimpleboyjoonie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt, M/M, PTSD, Rickyl, Violence, graphic description of child abuse, handjobs, self harm warning, suicide warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpleboyjoonie/pseuds/dimpleboyjoonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is suffering from recurring nightmares and this time Rick is the only one that can help him fight his way through them. </p><p>"Nightmares end, they shouldn't end who you are."</p><p>(Also a sequel of sorts to my previous Rickyl fic: Nightmares)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares End

~~~

His father's hand tightened around his wrist and Daryl braced himself for what was about to come. A beer bottle was thrown to the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces and sprinkling tiny shards of glass across the floor. For the briefest of seconds Daryl thought they looked beautiful, reflecting rainbows from the light, but then he felt something smash into the right side of his face. He fell to the floor, reaching out with his palms instinctively so he wouldn't land on his face. His hands took most of the impact but they had also landed in the glass. Daryl looked down at his hands. The tiny pieces of glass had cut into them like splinters from a tree and his blood trickled down to the floor, mixing with the alcohol that surrounded him. 

He didn't have time to register the new pain as another fist came flying at his face, this time hitting him in the nose. Daryl heard the bone break before he felt the pain, but before he could get up off of the floor a boot cruelly kicked at his side, causing a jolt of searing heat in his ribs. Daryl started to sob, hot tears trailing down his face which earned him hoots of laughter that sounded more like growls coming from his father. He wanted to get up and wanted to fight back just like his big brother Merle had done, but he couldn't. The pain was too much for him and he wasn't sure whether or not he would be able to fight like Merle could. 

Another kick to his side forced a scream from his lips that rattled his whole body. Daryl wasn't sure what sort of animal had made the sound at first before he realised that he was the one who made it. If he had heard a sound like that while hunting for their next meal with Merle, he would have thought that whatever had made it was being ripped to shreds by a much more bigger and stronger animal. 

He tried desperately to crawl away from his drunk father, the kitchen door just within his sight. Out through that door was the woods, a place that he knew better than himself. If he could get out there and away from his father he would be okay. That's what Merle told him before he left. He taught Daryl all that he knew about survival. Taught him how to hunt, to fish, to track. Daryl bitterly wished that Merle had taught him how to fight too, but all he needed to do now was just get to that door and run away deep into the woods. He would be safe out there. His father would never be able to find him. Daryl could just live peacefully in the woods until Merle came back and took him away from here forever, just like he'd promised.

Before Daryl could push himself any further he felt large hands tear away at the shirt on his back, ripping the fabric and exposing the skin underneath to the cool air. He heard the sounds of a belt being undone and froze in place, suddenly unsure of what was to come next. He had been beaten before so he knew what to expect each time his father got drunk. With his mother dead and Merle gone Daryl was the only one left. The only one that his father could punish. He knew what to expect when a fist came at his face, but this time something was different. 

A sharp hissing sound cut through the air and then the belt was brought down onto his back, searing across his spine and sending fire throughout his whole body. Daryl collapsed down to the floor again and curled into himself, trying to shield his body. Another hissing sound made him flinch and the belt cut across the skin on his back, this time cutting it deeply and sending more blood onto the floor. He tried to move himself closer to the door but the belt came down hard onto his back again and again, forcing him to stop and cry out in pain. His whole body began to shudder and ache, the cuts on his back burned and more hot blood flowed onto the kitchen floor in a pool around him. 

Daryl stayed huddled on the floor, his hands placed over his face to try and protect the already broken nose. The belt cracked onto his skin one last time and Daryl whimpered, more tears collecting in his eyes before they spilled over and he was sobbing. His father launched the belt at the wall and walked off, heavy boots crunching over the glass. Daryl stayed still, sure that his father was going to come back and finish him off for good.

After several minutes of staying still and listening out for any sounds of his father Daryl finally pushed himself up off of the floor. He was standing right in front of the door now. All he had to do was just step out there, run away and never look back. It was so simple. Out through that door was survival, and in here was a violent death. He started moving towards the door and had his hand right on the handle when he heard the sounds of someone walking quickly over the glass and large hands wrapped around his throat. 

His father threw him back down to the ground and wrapped his hands tighter around his throat, squeezing and cutting off his air supply. Daryl's vision started to blur and he could feel his lungs aching. He pushed at his father with all of the strength he had left and forced him off of him. He dragged in ragged breaths and tried to get up again but his father kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back down. 

"It's your fault Daryl, it ain't mine, you made me do this!" His father screamed and kicked Daryl hard in the side, bruising several of his ribs. 

Daryl felt jolts of sharp pain, the worst pain he had ever felt in his whole life and it felt like he'd just been set on fire. The memory of his house burning down to the ground quickly filled his mind and it was like he was back there again, running towards his house as firemen tried to pull him away. He could smell the smoke and feel the heat as the fire engulfed his house, and that was when he knew it. He knew his mother was in there. He knew she was gone forever, just burnt to ashes, all traces of her existence wiped away like she was just a mistake made on someone's paper. His father kicked him again and brought him back out of his memory, his loud voice growing into feral screams and Daryl was sure this was the end. He was going to die and never see Merle again. He was going to die and-

Daryl suddenly woke up, shaking in fear and pushing down at the scream that was building up at the back of his sore throat. He reached for the knife tucked snugly under his pillow and scanned the dark room from corner to corner, looking for any threats. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he tried to ground himself, repeating in his head that it was just a dream, that his father was probably dead and if he wasn't he would never find him here. Here. Where was here? Daryl took a second to scan his thoughts, coming up empty. He was groggy from sleep and his whole body was aching. Where was he?

Rick stirred beside him, turning towards Daryl and muttering softly to himself in his sleep. As soon as Daryl's eyes glanced over Rick's familiar face he felt a wave of relief crash down on him, sweeping away the fear and panic that had been building up in his chest like a volcano about to erupt. He knew where he was now, he was in Alexandria with Rick sleeping by his side. He was safe. It was just a dream.

Daryl clutched onto the knife tighter and tried to slow his breathing, each breath soothing his aching lungs. It was just a dream but he could have sworn that he'd felt the hands wrapped around his neck. It felt so real. Daryl brought a hand up to his throat and gently touched the tender skin with his fingertips, flinching from the sudden pain that flared up there. His skin felt red hot, as if he really had been standing in front of his burning house with several firemen holding him back and watching as it disappeared in smoke thicker than fog. 

Daryl tried to push the thought of his burning house and his dead mother aside but it was no use. The thought simply demanded to be felt, creeping through his mind like a weed growing its roots through the cracks in a wall. His mother. He tried picturing her face, but he couldn't. It was just a blank space, a distant memory, shrouded in mist. Each time he tried to move closer to the memory of his mother it was like it was moving further back, always keeping them apart. He couldn't remember her face, her voice, her smell. He couldn't remember _her_. She was just gone. 

He felt his eyes brimming up with burning tears and tried to wipe them away, knowing that once he started crying the sobbing would come next. He didn't want to wake Rick up. He didn't want to make him upset. Daryl tried to shake the thought, knowing that it was his anxiety that was telling him Rick would be angry with him if he woke him up. Daryl knew Rick would never hurt him. He wasn't like his father. Rick would never do that to him. 

He tried to control his breathing and clear his mind of all thoughts of fire. It was his greatest fear. He knew most people feared death, but in this world death was everywhere now. You can't run from it. But you can't run from fire, either. A memory forces it's way up to the surface, the day he had his first cigarette. He wanted to look cool in front of his stupid friends, but there was also a darker motive to becoming a chain smoker. He wanted to punish himself, wanted to feel the smoke clogging up his lungs just like it had done to his mother. 

_"You didn't save her!"_

The voice is loud, so loud that he clutches the knife tighter in his fist and glances around the room, sure that someone else is in the room screaming at him. But there's no one there, and he can start to feel the panic crashing down over him, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping. Hot tears flicker like flames at his cheeks and his throat starts to burn. Somewhere deep in his mind he hears her then. 

_"You deserve to burn."_

He can't help it, the feral scream that rattles through his body forces it's way through his lips. It echoes off the walls and makes his throat ache so badly that he's falling off the bed and onto the floor, spluttering and trying to get air into his lungs. It's no use. His lungs don't work anymore, they're too clogged up with the phantom smoke. He's drowning and no one is coming to save him, just like no one saved his mother. 

 

~~~

 

Rick reaches for the gun instinctively, years of being a cop and years of surviving in this broken world telling him that something is wrong. The space where Daryl should be is cold and empty, and a sharp pain flares up in his chest like he's just been punched. He forces it to go away, pushes it aside so he can get up and assess the situation. The sheets on Daryl's side are twisted and the knife underneath his pillow is missing. Part of him thinks that it's good that Daryl doesn't have a gun in his current state, and he knows Daryl doesn't like them anyway, not after what happened in the hospital at Atlanta. But he isn't stupid, and he knows that Daryl could do plenty of damage with the knife to himself as well as to others. He tries not to think too hard about that, but he knows Daryl's been suffering. He's seen the cigarette burns. 

He spends only one minute searching the house for him, knowing that every second that ticks by is another second of Daryl suffering alone. Or worse, he could be dead for all Rick knows. Anxiety gnaws away on his insides and it's like he's reliving the moment Sophia slipped from his fingertips all over again. He can't change the past, but oh, he wishes he could. Rick still sees it in Carol's fierce eyes sometimes, still sees the regret and pain and guilt. They've all done terrible things, some worse than others, but losing Sophia still feels like a fresh wound. Sometimes he wonders that if he hadn't left her alone at that small pond, would she still be alive today? He pushes that thought away as quickly as he'd made it, flicking that switch off. 

He checks on Carl and Judith's rooms, making sure that they're both still safe and asleep. Rick knows exactly where Daryl has gone now, so rushes out of the door and into the cool nights air. He isn't afraid of the dark and doesn't need to see to get to where he's going. He follows the road and races over the wet grass, towards the make-shift cemetery. In the pale moonlight he sees Daryl's shaking form, huddled underneath the small tree that Maggie planted in memory of Beth. 

Rick takes slow and cautious steps towards Daryl, deliberately crunching on leaves to make his presence clear. The last thing he wants to do is to scare Daryl even more, or wind up getting stabbed. The faded scar from when Morgan stabbed him reminds him of the pain everyday, but he finds himself smiling fondly at the memory. The difference between Morgan then and now couldn't be more clear, and Rick really thought that he'd lost his friend forever. But Morgan found him, and he changed. It gave him hope for Daryl, and hope was something that was hard to come by these days. 

Rick slowly sits down in front of Daryl, his joints groaning. He tries to ignore how damp the grass is and how he's going to have to do laundry first thing in the morning, instead focusing on Daryl's hands as they rip the grass from its roots in anger. Carefully, as if he was reaching out to stroke a wild animal, he takes Daryl's hands in his own. He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't say anything. 

He scans Daryl's body for any signs of injury and he doesn't see any. Relief pours through his body and it's almost euphoric. The knife lays discarded in the grass next to Daryl, and Rick has no doubts that it had been held over Daryl's wrist just minutes before he showed up. Rick doesn't know how to feel about that. He's glad that it didn't come down to that, but he knows that Daryl's in a bad place if the thought of hurting himself had crossed his mind. Still, it's a small victory and not one that should be glossed over. 

"Was it a nightmare again?" He asks him slowly, making sure his voice sounds calm and not shaky like it should be. 

Daryl nods, an action so quick and brief that if Rick had blinked he would have missed it. 

"Mm, do you wanna talk about it?"

There's a slight shake of his head and Daryl nervously looks up at Rick, his strange dark grey eyes filled with fear. He parts his lips and looks like he's about to say something, but whatever it was he drops it quickly and pulls his hands away. He doesn't look back at Rick, instead he goes back to tearing up the grass.

"What?" Rick already knows the answer, but he needs to coax it out of him.  
Daryl draws in a shaky breath and it's obvious from the flinch that he's hurting more than Rick had realised. When his voice eventually does come out, it's quiet and wounded. 

"Nightmare. My father. It was bad, felt more like a memory than a nightmare." 

He takes in another pained breath before letting it all tumble out. 

"It was a couple of weeks after Merle left. My father lost his job, and got drunk. Really drunk. I don't remember it all, but I must have done somethin' to piss him off because he got angry. It was the night he gave me the scars." There's no light in his eyes when he finishes, just a cold stare and Rick suddenly feels like he's losing him again. 

"Hey, hey, it's alright. He can't hurt you here, no one can." Rick reaches out to Daryl again, wrapping his hands in his own, trying to rub some warmth into the cold fingers. 

He can't lose Daryl. If he did, he isn't sure if he'd be able to survive it. Lori's death still sits heavier than a boulder on his chest, weighing him down and he has to fight hard against it every day. The nightmares still come. It's the same one each time, Lori running through the tombs of the prison with bloodthirsty walkers chasing after her. He doesn't let himself go any further into the nightmare now, doesn't let himself watch her being ripped to shreds. He's stronger now, at least, he tries to be. He has to be.

"Rick," Daryl's voice is a soft whisper, barely audible, "do you remember Lori? I mean, her face and voice."

He feels the grief seeping into his bones and the boulder weighing him down, squashing the air from his lungs. He tries to picture Lori, in his dreams she's too far away from him to make out any of her features. But he can remember the shock of her long, dark hair and how it always smelt faintly of strawberries, even if she hadn't had the chance to wash it in a few days. He remembers her laugh, strong and loud, a sound that made his heart flutter and his cheeks blush. Suddenly, he can picture her face and remember every last detail about her, but he lies to Daryl.

"Sometimes I do, but most of her is gone now." He doesn't know why he's lying and the guilt washes over him, almost causing him to choke on his words. 

"I don't remember my mom. Fire took away every last trace of her, even took the photos. I wish I had something of hers, you know, just to prove she was real." 

The boulder pushes down on Rick's chest even harder than before, and he's sure that even if he wanted to get any words out he wouldn't be able to. Instead he pulls Daryl's shaking body closer to his own, hugging him tightly. He partly knows what Daryl is talking about, the memory of looking for Lori's body and only finding a single tooth and a lot of blood still haunts his mind. It's a hazy and a patchy memory, but he knows what it's like to suddenly find that the one person who can connect you most to the world has vanished into thin air. 

Rick didn't think he would ever be able to have that again though. He thought that part of himself had been lost along with Lori, but Daryl had proven him wrong countless times after that. Rick didn't think he would ever be capable of love again, didn't think he would even be able to let himself feel those feelings. But Daryl had stepped up, caring for the group and saving his life over and over again. And now Rick might loose him, not to the walkers or to the wild strangers beyond the safety of the walls. No, the threat was right here. It was the knife, the cigarettes, the nightmares that stripped away tiny fragments of Daryl each night. He wouldn't loose him, not again. 

He pulls Daryl tighter to his chest until there isn't even any air keeping them apart. Rick can feel his shirt damping as Daryl lets out all of his emotions and Rick rubs in small circles onto Daryl's back with one hand, nestling the other into the thick curls of Daryl's hair. He smiles softly to himself, remembering how grumpy he'd been with Rick when he'd made the suggestion to get his hair cut to a more manageable length. When all of the tears have eventually been drained out from his body he stays pressed into Rick's embrace, and Rick plants a quick kiss on the top of his head before breaking the silence. 

"Do you remember what Bob said? Right before we lost him?" 

Daryl glances up at Rick and shakes his head. 

"He said that the nightmares end. They end Daryl, but they don't end who you are. You've got to remember that." Rick urges, still holding tightly onto Daryl as though if he let him go he'd fall apart in his arms.

Daryl briefly pulls himself out of Rick's embrace so he can look him in the eyes, "I won't let them end me Rick. I won't."

"I know." It's only two words, it's all Rick can manage before he's a crying mess himself, but they hang heavy in the air around them. 

The small gap between them might as well be a thousand miles and Rick finds himself needing to close it in an instant, finds himself needing the other man to be as close to his body as they can get. They collide together like two spiralling galaxies, pulled together by each other's gravity, and Rick trails his fingers through Daryl's soft hair again before leaving tender kisses along the curve of his neck. Daryl pushes him down into the wet grass, the leaves from Beth's tree tickling softly at his exposed skin as the thin cotton t shirt is pulled up and over his head. Daryl kneels over Rick as he removes his own shirt and Rick can't help but stare up at him in wonder, can't help but feel his stomach flutter and his hips buck involuntarily at Daryl's blazing touch. 

"You're beautiful." He manages to breathe out as Daryl kisses his chest and pushes a hand down his pants, ghosting briefly over the sensitive skin. 

He knows they won't take anything any further than this, but in that moment he doesn't care. He just needs Daryl to be close, needs him to know how much he loves him. Rick lets out a small moan as Daryl wraps a calloused hand over his length, stroking up and down in swift movements. Their lips come together and Rick finds himself moaning again as Daryl bites down on his bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood but the sharp pain has Rick seeing stars. He draws in rapid breaths and his heart is beating faster, and he knows he's getting close. Daryl pushes him over the edge with one last jerk and he lets out another moan. It's messy and quick, over before they can be spotted by anyone going out for a late night walk, but Rick's glowing. 

Daryl rolls over onto his back and lays by Rick's side, locking their fingers together, staring up to the clear nights sky. Since the end of the world there's been no lights to block their view of the stars, and now Rick can see more of them than he's ever seen in his entire life. He smiles widely and turns his head to look at Daryl, finding him staring at him instead of the stars as if he's the better view. He kisses the top of Daryl's forehead, his lips lingering there for a little while longer to taste the sweet skin. 

"I love you." He breathes out. 

Daryl lets out a small laugh, the best sound Rick's ever heard and one he could never grow tired of, "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading!! Please leave comments and kudos, and if you spot any typos please comment them, I'll correct them and then we'll act like they never happened
> 
> Huge thanks goes out to everyone who read/commented/kudos my other Rickyl fic, it was you guys that put the idea in my head of writing this one!!
> 
> This is my first time writing smut ever, and I was really nervous to do so but that's where the story took me. Please comment with any suggestions for improvements!
> 
> And again, thank you!


End file.
